Fifteen extra laps. All for dropping his damned pencil. If Worlds wasn't so close --
But it is close, and the fire inside him is burning hotter than ever now. Last year had been his first Junior Worlds, the first one he'd been old enough to compete in, and even if he hadn't absolutely walked off with the gold he'd won it by a comfortable enough margin to paint a target on his back for the following season. Which was exactly what he'd wanted. And hadn't that been fun, seeing skaters three and even four years older than him start to look uncomfortable when they spotted him in the locker room? Feeling the sweat on their palms when they'd had to shake hands with him, because the coaches were right there and other people were watching and something something good sportsmanship? Hearing the tightness in their voices as they wished him good luck, and seeing the way they tried not to squirm when he wished them luck (for all the good it'll do you) in return?
So it hadn't been perfectly smooth skating. The other skaters weren't complete pushovers, especially those who could hear the age clock ticking against them. Yakov's critiques had only become more merciless as the Junior Grand Prix Final approached. And the temptation of the quad was always there, always waiting, as his competitors' point totals rolled in. But Yuri's sights were set on a much higher goal, and that temptation never overcame his knowledge that if he could win without quads -- and cut a swath of destruction through the juniors circuit for the second year in a row -- he'd make his senior debut with a program choreographed by the only person who mattered.
The person right here in front of him, who wanted to know whether he would rise to meet the promise they'd shaken hands over all those months ago.
That amused look on Viktor's face, though...something isn't right about it. It's not what Yuri wants to see. And it puts a bit of steel in his spine, though his gaze flickers over to Yakov and back again before he replies. 'It'll be better than everyone else's. Even without quads. I have to prove that I'm ready for the next level, don't I?'
'Which you won't be, if your mouth keeps running away with your head.' Yakov has made his way over to them, looking dour as ever. 'Not that there's much of anything in your head for your mouth to run away with.'
no subject
But it is close, and the fire inside him is burning hotter than ever now. Last year had been his first Junior Worlds, the first one he'd been old enough to compete in, and even if he hadn't absolutely walked off with the gold he'd won it by a comfortable enough margin to paint a target on his back for the following season. Which was exactly what he'd wanted. And hadn't that been fun, seeing skaters three and even four years older than him start to look uncomfortable when they spotted him in the locker room? Feeling the sweat on their palms when they'd had to shake hands with him, because the coaches were right there and other people were watching and something something good sportsmanship? Hearing the tightness in their voices as they wished him good luck, and seeing the way they tried not to squirm when he wished them luck (for all the good it'll do you) in return?
So it hadn't been perfectly smooth skating. The other skaters weren't complete pushovers, especially those who could hear the age clock ticking against them. Yakov's critiques had only become more merciless as the Junior Grand Prix Final approached. And the temptation of the quad was always there, always waiting, as his competitors' point totals rolled in. But Yuri's sights were set on a much higher goal, and that temptation never overcame his knowledge that if he could win without quads -- and cut a swath of destruction through the juniors circuit for the second year in a row -- he'd make his senior debut with a program choreographed by the only person who mattered.
The person right here in front of him, who wanted to know whether he would rise to meet the promise they'd shaken hands over all those months ago.
That amused look on Viktor's face, though...something isn't right about it. It's not what Yuri wants to see. And it puts a bit of steel in his spine, though his gaze flickers over to Yakov and back again before he replies. 'It'll be better than everyone else's. Even without quads. I have to prove that I'm ready for the next level, don't I?'
'Which you won't be, if your mouth keeps running away with your head.' Yakov has made his way over to them, looking dour as ever. 'Not that there's much of anything in your head for your mouth to run away with.'